


Out with the Wolves

by ShadowValkyrie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1000-3000 words, M/M, Not a Happy Story, Post-Purgatory, Season 8, Short, Violence, attempted misuse of BDSM as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowValkyrie/pseuds/ShadowValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, all Dean needs is someone to beat the pain out of him. Benny is happy to oblige – for the most part, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out with the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the December ‘14 edition of the SPN kink meme on LJ. Title from “Ain’t That a Shame” by the Gaslight Anthem. (Music-wise, I like their older stuff better, but the lyrics of this one just… fit.) Veers very slightly AU from canon, in that Dean and Benny don’t part ways right at Benny’s graveside, but a few hours after that. Thanks to Raye for the quick beta; any remaining mistakes are mine alone.

He is too far gone to count. His world narrowed down to dusty-smelling sheets, dank against his forehead, and the slice of dark wooden bedframe and threadbare carpet that are all he can see between his arms. He’s been kneeling so long, his feet are numb. 

Another lick of the belt draws a searing line across his ass, makes his back arch and his hole clench around empty air, begging to be filled. 

He prepped himself before they started. Not as thorough as Benny would have, just enough to keep himself from tearing too badly. It’s been almost two weeks since Purgatory, since their last fuck, and he’s tightened up enough that it’ll hurt like a bitch. 

It’s a good thing he insisted they stay in an abandoned farm house near Benny’s graveyard, rather than finding a motel. Tonight, they’re not making the kind of noise neighbours easily ignore. 

There is another sharp _thwack_ , and a split-second after the impact of the leather, heat flares up, ripples through him in waves, until even his fingertips tingle with it. He’s dizzy with pain and want, but it’s not enough – not yet. 

Again, and this time across the same stretch of skin as before. He can hear himself moan, even while the moonlit floor blurs under him and his hands lose their grip on the sheets. 

He’s still nowhere near that quiet place he’s been yearning for, where pleasure and pain cancel out every thought and feeling, blot out his most basic sense of self. 

The next hit makes everything go blissfully black for a moment. 

He’s dimly aware that the belt comes down a few more times, on his back, his thighs, his ass, while he drifts in and out of consciousness. It’s good; it’s getting him there. 

But after a while, it just stops. 

Dean’s suddenly aware of his own breathing, shallow and ragged, and too loud in the silence. Without fresh slashes of pain, or the distracting rush of sex, the hot dull throb of the beginning bruises all over his body is almost unbearable. All the more so for the fact that it’s simply not enough. He isn’t in that place he needs to be to make it good, so it just hurts, useless and taunting, too much and too little at once. 

“Please,” he finally manages, willing Benny to understand. Too far gone to care that he’s begging. 

There is no answer. 

“Fuck, Benny, _please_ , I need more than this!” 

He can hear Alastair cackling in his head, and see Cas’s sad blue eyes. Fuck, _Cas_.

His own eyes are burning, but it’s not the good kind of tears; no relief there.

“Benny…” 

“I think you’ve had enough, brother.” Benny’s clearly going for ‘calm’, but his voice sounds more than a little strained too. 

There’s no hiss of fangs in the words, though, so this isn’t the vampire instincts kicking in and him trying not to lose it. That happens sometimes while they fuck, but mostly it’s when he manages to cross Dean’s pleasure and pain wires just right, and right now they’re light years away from that point. 

He craves more pain so badly, its absence is chasing ghost ripples of misfiring nerves over him now. They make his hands spasm and his stomach jump. He’s gotta be a sorry sight: curled in on himself, his defiant show of proud endurance wiped away, leaving a strung-out, twitching wreck on his knees.

But still, he clings to that physical pain and degradation, because the other pain is so much worse. 

_Cas…_

“Come on, Benny! Beat me!” His voice is barely a croak. “Or at least fuck me!” 

He’s empty inside, desperate for it. 

But the whistle and smack of the belt doesn’t come. There is no blunt push of a dick against his hole, either. 

“Benny…” 

“Impala,” Benny says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. 

It takes Dean a moment to make sense of that. Oh, safeword, right. He almost laughs, but chokes it down just in time. 

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” 

It’s his safeword, his call to make. He’s the one getting whipped, and he hasn’t nearly had enough. 

“No,” Benny just says. There’s the clatter and slap of metal and leather on wood as the belt hits the floor next to Dean. “This goes both ways, brother.” 

Benny’s steps are soundless, but Dean doesn’t need to look up to know that he’s alone in the room. 

It takes him several minutes to get up on his feet, sick and dizzy with pain and grief, one arm heavy against the wall as he struggles to pull his jeans up and his t-shirt down with the other. He gives up on the button and zipper, his fingertips too numb and his hands too shaky to do them up. 

He has no idea how he makes it down the stairs without falling, but when he staggers outside, he finds Benny still there, contrary to expectation, leaning against the porch rail, arms crossed and his face carefully impassive. 

The creak and clatter of the screen door on its warped and rusty hinges is the only sound between them for some time. It’s that hour of night when even the bayou is quiet.

“Benny…” Dean finally starts, unable to take the piercing stare any longer. They’re as colourless as everything else in the moonlight, but he knows how blue Benny’s eyes are – almost as blue as Cas’s, even in the washed out half-light of Purgatory.

Benny cuts him off.

“Look, brother, I get that you like it rough, and I don’t mind giving you that. Hell, I like it too. I’ll smack your ass a little and pull your hair if that does it for you. But this? This is something else. I’m punishing you, and I don’t even know what for!”

Dean blinks, momentarily dumbfounded.

“Does it matter?” he finally asks.

Benny snorts. “Guess not,” he concedes, shoulders slumping as his arms uncross. “But I think we should do what we agreed on.”

What they agreed on is to part ways, so that Dean can find his brother and Benny can take care of his unfinished business.

“Yeah, guess we should,” he says.

The alternative is ripping himself open and spilling his pain on this broken front porch, telling Benny how Cas didn’t make it out, is still trapped in Purgatory with every wild and ruthless thing he unleashed and barely put back on its chain, every monster slavering for his blood. And if he does that, there’s no telling whether he’ll ever put himself back together

“Okay then.” It’s Benny who crosses the distance between them, and pulls Dean close. His body is the same temperature as the Louisiana night, and he still smells of damp soil. His hands bring the burning stripes back to life where they touch Dean’s hip and shoulder, and Dean can feel the hardness of Benny’s crotch against his own. It makes the want flare back up, that fierce and selfish craving for the relief of sex and pain. But before Dean can try or say anything terminally stupid, Benny pulls back again. “Farewell, brother.”

“You too, Benny. Keep your nose clean, you hear me?”

“I’ll try.” There is a painful fondness in Benny’s smile. “Yourself too,” he says. 

But it’s Dean who finds himself turning and walking – still weak in the legs at first, but this, too, will pass – a few unsteady steps down the front stairs, then along the overgrown driveway, and into the night, without looking back. 

 


End file.
